


Lex Luthor- Not A Nazi (a clex punk AU)

by crocodileinterior



Category: DCU (Comics), Smallville, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Punk, Lex is a punk Clark is a new guy in the city, M/M, Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocodileinterior/pseuds/crocodileinterior
Summary: “I’m not a nazi.” Lex said.“Oh.” Clark said. “Okay.” Because nobody had had to explain that they weren’t a nazi to him before.// Lex is a punk rocker with a shaved head. Naturally, most people make assumptions. But Clark isn't most people. Also, Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice- it's a thing! check em out! //
Relationships: Clark Kent/Lex Luthor
Comments: 13
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m not a nazi.” Lex said.

“Oh.” Clark said. “Okay.” Because nobody had had to explain that they weren’t a nazi to him before.

But maybe the clarification was appropriate seeing as how Lex was sitting across from him donned in a black leather jacket, doc martens, rolled up jeans, and of course sporting a gleamingly clean shaven bald head.

Clark had not thought Lex was a nazi to begin with. But he wouldn’t have, as there were plenty of racists in rural Kansas but no skinheads, so the reference was lost on him. In fact, Clark had only been living in Metropolis for two weeks and only known Lex for one. Lex was Clark’s first Metropolis friend. Which was maybe a little surprising because Lex was not friendly. And Clark was actually pretty sure he might be Lex’s only friend in the city as well. But Clark was friendly. And though Lex had a sullen appearance, Clark’s mother had always told him that often the people who looked the meanest were the most in need of friendship.

Really they’d become friends because they went to the same punk concert venue. Clark lived in the shittiest of shitty apartments next door to it and the music was always so loud on weekends that it was futile to ignore it so instead he’d wandered over, had a beer, tried not to get elbowed by the writhing mass of bodies in the mosh pit, and thought to himself ‘you’re not in Kansas anymore.’

It was upon leaving said punk concert that Clark saw a very drunk, very bald, man attempting to cross the street with a car headed straight his way. So Clark had grabbed him by the back of his jacket and yanked him back just in time. That man was Lex. Obviously. And even in an inebriated state, he had pledged his gratitude to Clark.

Somehow since then Lex had just inserted himself into Clark’s life. He wasn’t sure how he knew where he would be so often but he just kept turning up. Sort of like being followed around by a stray. Clark would come back to his apartment and Lex would be on the stairs outside smoking a cigarette. Or he’d see him at the café he went to in the morning. Lex would buy him a coffee. And in the case of tonight, if Clark found himself eating alone at a diner, Lex would slide in to the seat across from him at the booth and jump into conversation by saying he wasn’t a nazi without preamble.

“Seriously. I think white supremacy is abhorrent. It’s just people who have no value of their own trying to blame others for their own sense of unimportance.” Lex said. Then he stared intently at Clark as if he was expecting Clark to say something back.

“Um. Yeah.” Clark said awkwardly.

Lex tapped his cigarette on the side of his ashtray and sat up slightly in the diner booth seat he was planted in, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and narrowing his eyes a little bit, the way he did when he was about to impart some of his great wisdom on Clark.

“I’m a SHARP. It stands for Skin Heads Against Racial Prejudice. We hate racism and all that shit. The original skin heads from the 1960s weren’t racist- they just liked ska and reggae. Those nazi fuckwads co-opted all the style of the skinhead culture and made it about white power. But the shaved head, the doc martens? The skinhead aesthetic is about working class solidarity.”

Clark blinked. “Working class…? Didn’t you say your dad was really rich?”

Lex stared at him grimly serious over his cigarette. “It’s not just about how much money you have, it’s about your state of mind.”

Sometimes Clark was sure Lex didn’t know what he was talking about, but Lex always spoke with such self assured conviction that he didn’t have the heart to correct him. He’d never heard Lex listening to ska or reggae either. He sort of figured Lex dressed that way because Lex was a pretty perverse guy- it didn’t take a long time of knowing him to realize that. And because he thought Lex liked to get in fights. Just like everybody else who frequented the punk club on his street.

Lex had paused to think but on his next exhale elaborated- “Suits and cashmere sweaters and khakis, all that shit… that’s the uniform of the burgeouise. It’s the kind of stuff people like _my father_ wear.” He poked his finger for emphasis on the linoleum diner table top.

He said ‘my father’ like it was the vilest swear word in his inventory. Which was saying something because in Clark’s experience of him, some of the most colorful profanities Clark had ever heard flowed quite easily from Lex’s mouth- regulars among them being ‘cunt’,‘shit eater’ and ‘cock breath’ as if he was making a point of being as crass as possible to balance out his otherwise eloquent and intellectual vocabulary.

“Sooo…” Clark said. “Is this about your eye?”

Lex was sporting a black eye. But it wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t that swollen anymore, just sort of purple around the lid and a little yellow around the corner of his eyebrow. Clark actually thought it looked kind of pretty. Like he was wearing makeup.

But Lex had received the black eye the previous night in the mosh pit of the club when the visiting band had begun playing a cover of “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” and the lead singer had pointed his middle finger directly at Lex whose bald pate stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd. A heroic mosh pitter had promptly punched Lex in the face.

Lex shrugged. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression. About me.”

Clark nodded once. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m sorry you got punched then.”

“Occupational hazard.” Lex said nonchalantly, stubbing out his cigarette. “Let’s get the check.”

It was the type of winter day where you couldn’t tell if it was snowing again or if the wind was just blowing the already existing snow back into the air. Clark tugged the collar of his jacket up around his neck and noticed that Lex walking beside him was still only wearing his leather jacket and his bare ears and tip of his nose were turning pink. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest and rubbed his hands together. Their shoulders brushed as they walked down the sidewalk.

“So…” Lex said after several paces. “ _You’re_ not racist, right?”

Clark stopped mid stride and turned his body fully to Lex to stare at him incredulously.

“Wh…. No! No. I’m not racist.”

Lex stopped walking as well, looked at him sideways and gave a little shrug.

“Well, I wasn’t positive… You said you grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere Kansas… and you never asked me if _I_ was a white supremacist even though I dress like this so… I thought maybe you were like some hick KKK guy and that’s why you let me be friends with you.”

Clark tsk’ed and shook his head, continuing to walk with Lex falling in step next to him. “Do I really seem like I could be like that?”

“Well, no, you didn’t. But I’m not always the best judge of character.”

“I never asked you about how you dress because I just assumed… I mean I just thought you were a punk.”

“I am. Really! But the shaved head, thing… that’s what usually makes people think…”

“I don’t know.” Clark admitted, “I guess I sort of just thought maybe you were balding.”

And that made Lex laugh. Really hard. Like his head thrown back and all his teeth showing. And Clark realized it was the first time he’d seen Lex really laugh. So he did what anyone would do- leaned over and kissed Lex on the lips. His mouth was surprisingly warm, surprisingly soft, and Clark felt the loss immediately when he pulled back away, the air feeling abruptly cold to him once more.

Lex looked at him, eyes wide and then he ran his tongue over his lower lip, tasting the kiss and stared at Clark’s lips like he couldn’t believe they’d just touched him.

Clark couldn’t quite believe it either. When exactly had he become so bold? And were they going to do anything beside stand in the middle of the side walk staring at each other’s mouths like two people possessed?

“Because, y’know…” Clark breathed, “Male pattern baldness is nothing to be ashamed about.”

Lex’s mouth crinkled, looking for a moment like he was going to break into laughter once more, but instead he grabbed Clark by the wrist and dragged him halfway down the block and into an alley, stopping only once they were somewhat shielded from the street view behind a dumpster.

“Romantic spot.” Clark quipped.

Lex didn’t dignify the retort with a reply- grabbed Clark by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him against the alley wall, smashing their lips together. When Lex kissed it was for real. Not any of that pansy shit that Clark was clearly pulling before with chaste closed mouths. Lex used tongue and teeth and his hands in Clark’s hair. It was rough and filthy and when they pulled apart, Clark’s glasses were askew. But Lex gave him a smirk that said ‘we’re just getting started’ and ran his hands down the length of Clark’s body as he got on his knees.

Even the sound of Lex undoing his belt buckle made Clark groan and chew his lower lip. He was already embarrassingly hard just from the kissing. Just from the anticipation. When he looked down and saw Lex’s lips spread wide over him, sucking him down to the base, he thought he’d lose control right then, had to bite down on the back of his fist to keep from crying out. Lex pulled back with an audible slurp, spit glistening on his chin. Clark couldn’t even blink he was so transfixed by the sight of his cock disappearing into Lex’s mouth. Lex had a scar on his upper lip- it stuck out more clearly on days when the air was cold and dry. And every time Lex sucked Clark down, he watched the scar stroking over the length of him, watched it stretch and change shape against his girth as Lex drew him in and out.

Clark’s hands felt empty at his sides so he laid them on the back of Lex’s neck, then stroked his fingers up across the shape of his skull, petting the skin that was so unbearably smooth- almost _delicate_ , against all odds. And couldn’t stop thinking how he hoped Lex would never grow his hair out.


	2. Epilogue: Samson

A month after they started dating, Lex started letting Clark shave his head for him.

Clark lathered him up fully- not just the crown of his head, but all the way around his chin and neck (because as he’d discovered, Lex sometimes even had stubble on his chin though it was light colored). With a shaving cream beard he looked like an emaciated Santa. He also looked more relaxed than Clark ever saw him otherwise. Clark figured it was because he was pretending he was at the spa but he liked to think it was because Lex trusted him and knew he was in good hands. Seriously, he looked so zen sometimes Clark even thought he had fallen asleep. But when Clark nudged him slightly, or grasped Lex’s jaw and turned his head slightly to the side to get a better angle, he’d see Lex looking back at him, blue-grey eyes open and staring at him as if they’d never been closed.

Clark made funny faces when he worked. He was terrified of knicking Lex with the razor. It had only happened once. Clark was careful. He’d grown to love the ritual of it. The crisp feeling of the razor drawing across Lex’s scalp, leaving smoothness in its wake. The smell of sandalwood and soap.

After they’d started dating, Lex had added a patch with a crossed out swastika that said “NAZIS EAT SHIT” onto his leather jacket and consequently got in less fights. He also stole his father’s black card and donated enough money to the local synagogue to have his mother’s name added to the memorial plaque- Lex’s deceased mother had been Jewish, Clark wasn’t sure if that could be called ‘ironic’. Clark went with him to light a yarzheit candle on the anniversary of her passing.

Sometimes Clark smoked the half finished cigarette butts Lex left lying in the ashtray in his apartment where even the walls smelled nicotine stained. Clark whispered “you’re a very corrupting influence” against the tender skin at Lex’s temple on the nights he called in sick to work after coming back to his apartment with Lex at 4 AM from a punk show down town where the singers spat whiskey into the audience.

Other 4 AMs were spent in pajamas with Lex’s head in his lap as he read his recently published newspaper articles aloud. Lex let him pet his head, though he’d swatted his hands away initially, but Clark liked running his knuckles across the curved shape of it, caressing the soft skin at the back of his ears, even kissing him at the smooth place where his neck met his occipital bone.

Lex still got shit for it sometimes and weird looks that Clark now took in stride. But Lex didn’t have a monopoly on bad hairstyle choices- because Clark was growing out a mullet.

**Author's Note:**

> // This was just an idea that came to me that I thought was funny. Lex tends to invite trouble on himself. I also dress punk and had a shaved head but I think no one gave me a hard time for it because I gave off a Shaved Head 'Queer~' vibe more than a Skinhead vibe. Please don't call me problematicos for writing a comedy fic that mentions nazis, I'm half jewish and don't think real white supremacy is a joke however my views are as Lex's are in this fic- I'm a little sad that skinhead culture which used to be about listening to ska and wearing suspenders got so horribly appropriated by nazis and I support SHARPs who are trying to take back the culture a bit (though I think if you dress that way even if you're not racist you're probably looking for a fight because you'll know what people will think). Also have to give credit to inspiration from Bruce LaBruce. //


End file.
